I knew I wasn't as strong as Lily. That much had been obvious since the very first day of training.
She didn't need to try. Didn't need to work hard. And yet, she was still leagues ahead of me.
What about me?
I spent every single day, from before dawn until long after dusk, training with the sword in my hand. My palms were rough with callouses, my back drenched in sweat, every muscle in my body aching from exhaustion. And still, no matter how hard I pushed myself, I couldn't catch up to her.
Lily never trained as much as I did. She would show up on the practice field, swing her sword a few times, and then leave, as if none of it really mattered. And yet, every time we faced off, I was the one who fell first.
Not because I didn't try hard enough.
But because the gap between us was insurmountable.
Our foster father often had us spar. Each time, I stepped onto the field with hope, believing I had improved since the last time. But the result was always the same.
I attacked.
She blocked.
And with the simplest of movements—she won.
Every time.
She never mocked me. Never praised me. She just… didn't care.
Over time, I came to understand something unsettling—Lily wasn't some disciplined warrior, nor was she a hardworking prodigy. If anything, she was the laziest person I had ever met.
Each morning, as I forced myself out of bed to train in the freezing cold, Lily remained curled up under her blanket, sleeping soundly. If no one woke her, she would sleep until noon, utterly unbothered.
I had always believed that a true sword master needed an iron will. But Lily didn't have that. She was never in a rush, never worried about getting stronger.
And the most frustrating thing was—she was still stronger than me.
One time, as I trained in the courtyard, the biting wind whipping at my skin, I happened to glance up at the window of our room.
Lily was standing there.
A cup of hot tea in her hands.
Silently watching me.
She said nothing. Showed no reaction.
Then, just as quietly, she closed the window.
The rain poured down, drenching me to the bone. But I didn't stop. I was used to this. A little discomfort wouldn't break me.
And Lily?
She was still inside.
Reading? Sleeping? Simply watching the rain? I had no idea.
But it didn't matter.
Because no matter how hard I trained—no matter how much pain I endured—I still couldn't reach her.
Lily's POV
Five years had passed.
The same days, over and over again.
Noah always found a way to lose to me.
He was so persistent that it bored me.
Every morning, while I was still curled up under my blanket, enjoying a peaceful sleep, he was already outside, swinging his sword over and over again, as if missing even a single second would doom him to forever lag behind.
But it didn't matter.
No matter how hard he trained, the distance between us never changed.
I wasn't the type to train relentlessly. I didn't have Noah's unwavering determination or burning ambition. Swordsmanship came as naturally to me as breathing, as effortless as walking. I didn't feel the need to get stronger—I was already strong.
Every day was the same.
Noah practiced. I watched.
I liked sitting by the window, holding a cup of hot tea, quietly observing him as he repeated the same movements until exhaustion overtook him. Sometimes, I wondered—if I trained as hard as he did, would I become even stronger?
But then, I would shrug.
It wasn't necessary.
Our father often had us spar. Noah would charge in with everything he had, and I—one strike, maybe two—would end the match. He would fall. I would win.
Again and again.
For six years, nothing changed.
I knew Dad was proud of Noah. He admired his perseverance.
And me?
Dad said I was good, but he never praised me the way he praised Noah.
"Noah, you've really improved. I admire your perseverance."
I stood in the corner, watching.
"Lily, you're skilled, but don't get too arrogant."
Those words echoed in my mind, over and over.
Why did Dad always praise Noah?
Why did he always criticize me?
As I wandered down the quiet hallway, a familiar sound interrupted my thoughts.
Whoosh!
Through the open courtyard, I saw him again—the black-haired boy I had always watched.
He was still training.
Still struggling.
His breaths were ragged.
"Huff… huff…"
Noah gasped for air.
"Wait, Lily!"
I looked at him, at the boy who never gave up.
Why did he try so hard?
No matter how much effort he put in, he would never surpass me.
A mediocre person like him—no matter how hard he worked—would always be mediocre.
So why should I respect someone like him?
...I was wrong to think that.-Back to Noah-
"This is the 1,827th match between Noah and Lily! Will Noah finally take revenge for his last 1,826 losses, or will Lily continue her undefeated streak?"
"I bet Lily wins. 100 ville on it."
"Who knows? Maybe Noah will pull off a miracle. 100 ville."
After 1,826 losses, today will be my first victory against Lily.
Last night, I devised a secret technique just for this moment.
Today, I will settle things with her.
"Both fighters, salute!"
Lily and I bowed to each other, then took our stances.
"Let's gooooooooooo!"
"Haaaah!"
I made the first move.
My sword sliced through the air toward Lily, but she barely flicked her wrist, her blade lightly tapping mine, deflecting my strike as if it were nothing more than a joke.
"I'm not done yet!"
I gritted my teeth and launched a relentless flurry of attacks. My sword carved sharp arcs through the air, each swing carrying the force of my determination. I pushed forward with everything I had, my strikes fierce and unyielding.
"Haha! Are you scared yet?"
"Oh my God, Lily is on the defensive!"
"Come on, Noah!"
But just as I thought I had backed her into a corner, she curled her lips slightly.
Clang!
"Huh!?"
"You think just wildly swinging your sword around is enough to overwhelm me?"** Lily's voice was laced with amusement.** "Let me show you what true Juda swordsmanship looks like."**
And then, she counterattacked.
Her strikes came fast. Too fast.
Each slash was precise, ruthless, and unrelenting. No wasted movements, no hesitation. Lily moved like the wind—effortless and untouchable—yet each of her blows hit like a thousand-pound boulder.
I staggered back, barely managing to block.
"Ugh…"
Sweat dripped down my forehead. My arms trembled under the pressure.
But I couldn't stop.
I smiled.
"Next… a diagonal slash, right to left."
Lily's eyes widened slightly.
"And that's my chance to counterattack!"
I summoned every last ounce of strength in my legs, leaping high into the air.
My sword slashed downward in a perfect arc.
"Wind-Killing Sword!"
The blade cut through the wind, slicing toward Lily with deadly force.
This is it—I'm going to win!
Huh?
"Look! Lily dodged it!"
Impossible…
"I can't believe it! If it were me, I'd be dead by now!"
How?
Lily tilted her head slightly, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Not bad, Noah."
She reached up—
And wiped a thin trail of blood from her cheek.
Blood?
Gasps erupted from the crowd.
"No way… Noah actually managed to injure Lily!"
Someone shouted my name.
"NOAH!"
A murmur ran through the spectators.
"Oh no… she's getting serious."
That was the first time I had ever landed a hit on her.
But then… why did it feel like something was wrong?
A heavy silence settled over the dojo. The air grew thick.
I felt it.
A terrible pressure.
The space around Lily shook.
The air became suffocating.
"Wait, Lily—"
"NOAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
She launched forward, sword raised—
BANG!
The dojo doors exploded.
A towering figure stepped through the dust and debris.
His silver armor gleamed under the lantern lights, the royal crest displayed proudly on his chest. A deep purple cape trailed behind him, the heavy fabric brushing against the shattered remains of the doorway.
His face was cold.
His gray eyes—sharp, calculating, merciless—locked onto Lily like a predator eyeing its prey. A long scar ran down from his forehead to his left cheek, a permanent reminder of past battles.
He didn't hesitate.
With a single motion, he knocked Lily's sword from her hand.
And with the other—
He grabbed her by the hair and lifted her off the ground.
"Lily!" I shouted.
Behind him, dozens of soldiers in royal armor poured into the dojo, forming an impenetrable formation, weapons drawn.
The man tightened his grip on Lily's hair, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to look at him.
His voice was calm. Cold. Absolute.
"Lord Rag Judanig." His gaze flickered toward my foster father before returning to Lily. "I am the Captain of the Second Royal Battalion."
He paused—then smiled, cruel and sharp.
"By the king's decree, I have come to arrest Lily Roshep."